


The Stars Can Wait

by well_gosh_sh



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/well_gosh_sh/pseuds/well_gosh_sh
Summary: With the world not ending, Aziraphale has time to contemplate his new found freedom, and what that freedom means for his 'arrangement' with Crowley.





	The Stars Can Wait

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first piece of creative writing in years and years. I fell in love with Good Omens in high school and the recent mini-series rekindled that love and has inspired me to write again! That in mind, this is not beta read, so apologies for any mistakes that I haven't caught. If you have any suggestions, comments, prompts, or you wanna discuss how slutty David Tennant's walk is, hit me up on tumblr @concentratedbastardenergy.
> 
> Like the book, this has footnotes. I suggest reading them as you go, they are linked so they should bring you back to where you left in the main text.

 

The End of the World, or rather not the End of the World, had an ineffable quality to it that, loath as Aziraphale was to admit it, irritated him. Ineffability was all good and grand, what with the Great Divine Plan from up high and whatnot, but the events not leading up to the end of all things left an unpleasant aftertaste. There was an unshakable sense of something not quite right. Like someone had come into his shop and moved everything just a few inches to the left; nothing one could concretely point to but just noticeable enough to get under the skin. Of course, there was something that Aziraphale could point to, the new first editions in his shop, courtesy of Adam’s imagination and rather Crowley-esque sense of humor. It wasn’t just his shop either. Crowley’s Bentley was almost the same as before, with the exception that the car could now play proper music and not just that infernal bebop. But it wasn’t the books that weren’t supposed to be there but were or the lack of Freddie Mercury’s locals in a Mozart concerto that were bothering Aziraphale. He rather liked Adam’s little updates. No, it was something else. Ever since his and Crowley’s little magic act of their own, fooling their collective sides into an uneasy retreat, the angel has had this burning sensation under his skin, as if he actually did step into the hellfire. Some days it would be no more maddening than a scratch, an unreachable itch just under his skin, but other days it would be consuming, burning all his focus away. 

At first he thought something had gone wrong when Adam put the world back in place, but Crowley seemed unaffected, as did everyone else around them. Then Aziraphale was convinced it was some sort of punishment, that upper management had seen through his rouse and had found a way to punish him without calling him back upstairs. But it’d been a little over a month since nothing ended and Aziraphale had a sinking suspicion he knew was the feeling was. That smothering burn, that irritating itch, that pressure in his chest, it was freedom. The angel had never truly experienced freedom before[1] and it _hurt_. For the first time in his impossibly long existence, Aziraphale had true freedom. He had made his choice when it counted, he made his own side, he took Heaven and Hell and tossed them aside. It was just like Crowley had said, it was their side. And now that their respective home offices were giving them a rather long leash, Aziraphale was free to make his own decisions, forge his own path. Not alone, but unencumbered. It was daunting and terrifying and gave the angel a headache. 

Surely that can’t be what humans felt every day? Aziraphale couldn’t understand how humanity managed to collectively get out of bed each morning if that is what it felt like to have to make all your own decisions. He wondered if this was what falling had felt like. Perhaps he should ask Crowley. But he was part of the problem, wasn’t he? The angel had spent so long keeping him at arm’s length, although admittedly not as successfully as he perhaps should have, and now that distance had seemingly vanished overnight. Literally overnight. On the bus back to Crowley’s place, surrounded by very confused passengers who wanted to ask the equally confused driver as to why the bus was suddenly heading into London proper but who were too politely British to ask, Aziraphale had given into temptation and reached out to Crowley and had taken his hand in his own. He just needed some reassurance that it was all over, or rather that nothing was over. He didn’t fully understand the impulse, and neither did Crowley, given his look of surprise. But neither of them had moved away. They held hands, an angel and a demon, surrounded by a whole lot of confusion on a bus leading to a specific Mayfair flat. 

Something had changed that night. Something shifted, something that Aziraphale couldn’t put into words which annoyed him to no end. That night had been the first time he had been to Crowley’s flat. The bookshop had always felt more like neutral ground, certainly personal and tucked away from the public eye, but safe. It was comfortable without being too, well, revealing. But Crowley’s flat, that was the last part of his life that he held secret. The last part of himself that he hadn’t openly shared with Aziraphale. Not that Crowley wouldn’t have invited the angel over, just that they had the shop instead. And Aziraphale had always had the feeling, perhaps unfairly, that going to Crowley’s flat was a bit too much like walking into the den of a beast. He could avoid temptation so long as he was fighting on home territory. But he had lost his home, he had almost lost everything, and Crowley’s offer spoke of such concern and kindness that Aziraphale couldn’t refuse. When the bus reached its destination, Crowley stood, adjusted his jacket[2], and reached out a hand. 

“This is our stop Angel, you coming?” Aziraphale stared at the outreached hand, the hand he had just spent the better part of an hour holding, for longer than was probably socially acceptable. But he took it nevertheless. Crowley had a small smile gracing his lips, not the self-satisfied smirk of a bad job well done but rather the same soft, slightly embarrassed smile he got whenever he did one of his small ‘demonic miracles’ that he didn’t want Aziraphale to comment on it. That smile was the softest expression the demon had, it has always been Aziraphale’s favorite. He beamed and followed Crowley off the bus, stopping to thank the befuddled yet resigned driver. 

The angel wasn’t at all surprised by how posh the neighborhood was, Crowley did like to keep up with the latest trends, after all. He was surprised, however, to see the demon’s hands shake while he attempted to unlock the door and although he didn’t fully understand the source of Crowley’s nerves, he understood the feeling. There was a nervous energy about them that night, but with an exhausted quality to it, guaranteeing that the tension wouldn’t escalate into a confrontation or solution quite yet. With a small flick of his finger, Aziraphale miracled the lock open; Crowley had sighed in relief and neither commented on the necessity of the little miracle. Crowley’s flat was simultaneously exactly and nothing like Aziraphale had imagined. The decor was horribly modern, about 150 years too modern for his taste, which was rather fitting to Crowley’s aesthetic. But there was a starkness to it all that reminded Aziraphale of Heaven, leaving him just a bit too on edge for his liking. In that moment, he had wondered how much of Heaven Crowley remembered and if this was some sort of attempt to stay connected with it after his fall. But that was too melancholic a line of thought for that night, a night when they should be celebrating the success of their ineptitude. And celebrate they did, with a bottle of 1947 Cheval-Blanc that Crowley had been saving for a special occasion.[3] It was like old times with the exception that they had abandoned the fashionably uncomfortable sofa for sitting side by side on the floor, close enough that their shoulders rested against one another’s. And once the bottle was finished, the celebration turned into a sobering reality check about their future punishment until they were reminded of Agnus’ prophecy[4] and they had formulated their ‘Freaky Friday’ plan, a reference which Aziraphale did not get, to which Crowley adamantly announced they would have to have a ‘movie night’.[5]

Their plan went off rather swimmingly and was honestly the most fun Aziraphale has had in the last century. He only wished he could have seen the look on Gabriel’s face when the demonic version of himself had stepped into the hellfire. While Aziraphale was beyond ecstatic that their plan had actually worked, and that they were free to choose their own side for the time being, he was now stuck with that burning freedom. He had thought it would be a temporary sensation, but it’d been weeks and it was still there. Surely that was enough time for him to adjust. On numerous occasions he had almost brought it up with Crowley, whom he now saw on nearly a daily basis. He had seen more of Crowley in the past few weeks than he had the entirety of the 19th century.[6]  Crowley was more familiar with the concept and practice of freedom than he was, albeit it was a more restricted version of freedom than their current circumstances. After all, his kind had more of an appreciation for freedom than the angel’s lot, what with freedom’s potentially disastrous consequences. Aziraphale had plenty of opportunity to bring up the topic, Crowley was practically underfoot since the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, but it had never felt like the right time. There was an unfinished quality about that night at Crowley’s, their first night of freedom, that refused to be forgotten. Aziraphale had done his best to ignore whatever was left between them, but every time he tried that burning sensation would flare up, leaving him irritable and unfocused. Crowley had surely noticed, it was near impossible not to notice the angel’s sporadic mood swings, but he never said anything. On one occasion, while in the back room of the shop, Crowley almost had said something; he had opened his mouth, closed it, muttered some comment about angels being bloody clueless, and left his spot on the sofa to go make Aziraphale some tea. 

The avoidance of the topic had gone on long enough that surely something had to break. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take and it was beastly of him to take his poor mood out on Crowley. His friend. His best friend. Possibly his only friend. It had taken the appearance of Satan Himself for Aziraphale to finally admit just how important Crowley was to him. He had spent millennia in denial about the demon; hiding behind the dogma of Heaven and Hell, but standing beside the anti-Christ, a demon, a witch, two witchfinders, a self-proclaimed psychic & lady of the night, and a gaggle of children at what could have been the end of the world really puts things into perspective. But Crowley hadn’t needed that extra push of clarity, had he? He had never shied away from their relationship. He had seen it for what it was- entirely theirs. Not heavenly or hellish, perhaps more than a little human, but entirely theirs. Aziraphale really hadn't given him enough credit, Crowley had known who they were long before the angel could admit it to himself. And that was what was holding Aziraphale back from bringing up the topic of their newly found freedom. Because he already knew Crowley’s thoughts on the matter, he had made them abundantly clear several times in the days leading up to the end of nothing. _We can go off together. We can run away together, Alpha Centauri._ Even decades before then, Crowley had offered Aziraphale their own freedom. _I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go. Just say the word and I’ll get us there._ And how had Aziraphale responded? _We aren’t friends, I don’t even like you. You go too fast for me, Crowley_. Six thousand years and it still felt too bloody fast. Aziraphale had known since Crowley had saved his books from the rubble of a bombed church that what they had was undeniable, although he had rather been discorporated than admit that to himself much less out loud. They were undeniable, perhaps not quite ineffable, as Crowley had known them, but just as grand. Maybe they would always feel too fast, but maybe that was just the feeling of freedom. Maybe freedom was like driving down Oxford Street in a 90 some year old car going 100 miles per hour. Absolutely terrifying and with the utter conviction that this will end poorly, but it becomes almost thrilling with the right person driving. No, it wasn’t going too fast that worried Aziraphale, it wasn’t even his own answer that gave him pause, it was the possibility that Crowley’s answer had changed. 

What if Aziraphale had taken too long, what if Crowley was sick of waiting? Now that Hell wasn’t going to chase him down at the nearest possible convenience, Crowley could do whatever he wanted, go wherever he wanted, be with whoever he wanted. What if the fear of hellish retribution was the catalyst for all of this and now that it’s over, the angel won’t seem nearly as appealing a companion? But at the same time, surely waiting longer wouldn’t help the situation. Aziraphale had been passively avoiding a conversation about their arrangement[7] for the majority of their time on Earth, and he had been actively avoiding it since the Blitz. Perhaps it was time to face this head on. After all, Adam, while the anti-Christ, was still a child and yet he was able to face down the reality of the end of all things and then _do_ something about it. His actions had been fool hearted and inadvisable, but they had also been unerringly human. That was the thing about humanity that neither Heaven nor Hell ever understood; humanity may be reckless but they’re a brave lot. Much braver than Aziraphale had been. It was time that he embraced that courageous side of humanity, go native so to speak. Surely if a small child could stand up to the horsemen and Satan Himself, than the angel could, well, talk to his best friend. Put in perspective, Aziraphale felt a bit foolish. They had just had a hand in stopping The War before it could even start and had survived the consequences. He had been dragged to Hell and left smiling. He was, oh what was the phrase Crowley had used when talking about that ‘Bond’ character he was so fond of- right, badass! He was a badass, he was more than capable of having a conversation with Crowley. He liked having conversations with Crowley. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how to bring up the subject though; freedom seemed too vague and asking ‘do you still want to run away with me to the stars?’ seemed a bit too on the nose for the angel’s tastes. Crowley didn’t do well with direct confrontation. Either of them did. 

In an act uncharacteristic for him, Aziraphale invited himself over to Crowley’s flat. He thought it only reasonable; Crowley would invite himself over to the shop whenever he wanted, usually to stave off boredom, or preemptively if he thought he was going to be bored, or sometimes because he had seen a bit of humanity that day that he wanted to share with the angel. That’s what friends do, they visit one another, and as they were friends, Aziraphale was well within acceptable social norms to come round to Crowley’s flat. He kept telling himself that with the hope that given enough times he may eventually believe it. He had even made sure that Crowley would be home (he may have called and then immediately hung up when the demon answered), because if Aziraphale had shown up and had to have waited at the demon’s doorstep until he got home, he would have lost all his conviction and would have avoided Crowley for at least the next decade or so. He almost did exactly that when Crowley opened the door and stared at the angel for a solid few minutes before he had processed his initial shock and invited Aziraphale inside. The angel had considered coming around with a nice bottle of scotch, a favorite of Crowley’s, so as to have an excuse for why he came round. But that would inevitably lead to them getting roaring drunk, and while Aziraphale wouldn’t have minded some liquid courage, he knew that neither of them were terribly coherent while drunk. He wished he had now, he would have felt much less awkward standing in the middle of Crowley’s living room if he had at least been holding something. Crowley certainly didn’t help either; he was nervously flitting about, which in turn made Aziraphale more and more anxious until he couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“Crowley, my dear.” Crowley gave a start at the sound of his name. He turned back around to face Aziraphale and quirked his head to the side slightly.[8]

“Yes angel?”

“Would you be so kind as to get me a cup of tea?” 

At that Crowley smirked, and replied “Don’t you know? I’m never kind. Not really my thing, would have thought you’d learn that by now.” And with that, Crowley left to the kitchen to make tea. Aziraphale would have rolled his eyes if it weren’t unbecoming for an ethereal being to do so, Crowley had always been one for dramatics. Always played the ‘bad boy’ but never meant it, not when it counted. It was, well, rather adorable actually. Although Aziraphale was smart enough not to say that aloud, he didn’t want to get pushed against a wall again.[9]

Aziraphale sat down on that damnably uncomfortable sofa and stared at his hands. Maybe this had been a mistake, coming here. His presence in the flat made Crowley seem so off-centered. Clearly showing up on his doorstep and practically demanding entry was too forward, and if that was too forward than they weren’t ready to have this conversation. Not yet. Maybe he can wait another century or so, that wouldn’t be too torturous. Just as Aziraphale went to get up to leave, Crowley came back with his cuppa. He crossed the room and set the cup down on the sleek glass coffee table and sat next to the angel. Well, it was too late to make his escape now, it would be horribly rude to up and leave when the tea had been made. Aziraphale went to pick up the mug, anything to distract him from the tight feeling in his chest, when a book on the table caught his eye. It was one of those coffee table books, never really meant to be read but to be perused; there mainly to make the owner look well learned and interesting. It was a book about the universe, with a burst of stars spanning its front cover. Aziraphale reached out, running his fingers over it. Alpha Centauri. 

“Aziraphale, is everything alright? You haven’t heard from Upstairs have you?”

“What? Oh no dear, nothing like that. Just, well, do you remember the conversation we had a while ago, about The War?”

“Which conversation? We’ve known each other for a while now angel, we’ve had quite a few conversations.”

Aziraphale removed his hand from the books and turned to fully face Crowley. “It was years ago, around 1917 I think. When all of Europe was blowing itself to pieces, do you remember what you asked me?” Crowley frowned, trying to remember the exact conversation. He shook his head. “You asked me if this is what it would be like when The War started. If that was the sort of destruction we could expect. You said you didn’t understand the point of it all, that war or ours, that you didn’t see why anyone would test a thing to destruction.”

“I remember now. What brought this on exactly? Reminiscing about worse times?”

The angel shrugged; his movement a tad awkward as nonchalant shrugging was really more of Crowley’s expertise than his own. He sighed and reached out, taking Crowley’s hand. “I’m sorry, my dear. For not realizing you were right, that I couldn’t admit it sooner.”

Crowley frowned. “You don’t have to apologize, I mean yeah you were incredibly dense about the whole thing but you tried to get Heaven to stop it all. You thought they would see reason, not that they ever do but you tried.”

Aziraphale gave him a sad smile and shook his head. “I’m not talking about that. No, I’m sorry that I nearly tested us to destruction.” The demon tilted his head to the side again, confused. Aziraphale was always so fond of that head tilt, there was something about it that was so achingly Crowley-esque. Crowley could be discorporated, God forbid, and inhabit a new body and Aziraphale would know just by that head tilt alone. “Did you mean it? When you said we could run away together?” The angel looked up. He couldn’t get a read on Crowley’s face with those blasted sunglasses in the way. He slowly reached up and took them off his face. There, that was better. He could finally see his eyes. For the majority of their time on Earth, Crowley had an admittedly practical habit of covering his eyes but the angel wished he wouldn’t when it was just the two of them. The color of his eyes, that particular shade of yellow, it reminded him of the first sunrise over Eden. Aziraphale took a deep breath, focusing on those eyes and nothing else. “Do you still mean it?”

The slight blush that spreads across the bridge of Crowley’s nose momentarily distracted the angel. “I, uh, well, you…” the demon stuttered, and looks away, his gaze focusing on his plants. Now that they’ve seen him blush they wouldn’t let it down, he was going to have to be extra demonic to them for the next few weeks. “You know that there aren’t any sushi restaurants up in the stars right, and no books in Alpha Centauri. Seems a bit of a waste going all the way up there.” Crowley turned back to Aziraphale and gave him a tentative, off-kilter smile. 

Oh, right. Of course. He had waited too long. Aziraphale pulled his hand away from Crowley’s and turned slightly away. “Right, such a waste. Silly me.”

“Hey wait a minute, I didn’t mean it like that, come on angel.” Crowley sighed. All of a sudden the floor was looking really appealing. He could use a little demonic miracle right about now, have the floor swallow him so he wouldn’t have to see the disappointed look on Aziraphale’s face. “I already told you, anywhere you want to go, I’ll get us there.” 

He reached out to Aziraphale, his hand cupped the angel’s face, gently turned him so Crowley could look at him in the eyes. Really let the message sink in. “Anywhere you want angel, I’ll follow. If you want a tour of all the galaxies, we can leave right now. Wherever, whenever.”

Anywhere, together. Aziraphale rather liked the sound of that. He rather like the sound of them. 

“Well angel? Wanna go?” Aziraphale couldn’t help himself, he was so utterly relieved, he couldn’t help the tears. “Oh Go- Chri- Oh Someone! What did I say? Don’t cry, I don’t know what to do with tears. I’m a demon for Satan’s sake, I’m no good at this angel.” Crowley looked so panicked, bless him. He was so concerned about the angel, so worried that he had done something wrong when he had done the one thing Aziraphale need him to do. Just as he couldn’t hold back his tears, he couldn’t hold back his laughter either. 

“Oh no, it’s alright. I just…” Aziraphale felt so blessed, so entirely loved, it was overwhelming. He wanted, no needed, to share that feeling with Crowley. He leaned forward, placed his hand on the back of the demon’s neck and gently pulled him forward. Their lips met, and for the first time in 6,000 years, Aziraphale felt fully at peace with himself. He had spent his existence on Earth striving to be the perfect Heavenly representative, playing by other’s rules and playing to other’s expectations. But that wasn’t him. Him and Crowley both, they had a bit too much humanity in them for that. Aziraphale refused to keep denying that part of himself anymore. The part of himself that loved Crowley, loved him in every way there was. 

Aziraphale pulled back, and goodness he had never seen Crowley so red before. “If it’s all the same to you, dear, I like where I am now. The stars can wait.” 

 

 

[1]Heaven didn’t really go in for that sort of thing, they rather discouraged it.

[2]A nervous habit of his. Aziraphale had first noticed it around the mid-18th century and had found it a fond sight.

[3] He had purchased it at an auction a few years back and had delighted in starting a bidding war that ended with him buying the bottle at £192,000, much to the chagrin of everyone else in the room. Hell picked up the bill for that, much to Hell’s chagrin. Many have theorized on the possibility of an economy in Hell, and if so what it may look like. Hell, of course, operated partially on a capitalist system, when it suited them best, as capitalism is the most damaging and evil of economic system. Hell continues to be peeved that humanity came up with it on their own.   

[4]Aziraphale will forever claim that their plan was due to a gentle push of Divine Intervention. Crowley does not agree.  

[5]They did have a movie night. Aziraphale approved of the theme of the transformative power of gratitude. Crowley approved of the opportunity to throw popcorn at Aziraphale.

[6] Although in all fairness, Crowley had spent the majority of the century napping.

[7]Not to be confused with The Arrangement, which Aziraphale understood quite well. The lowercase arrangement was much more difficult to define. Things in lowercase often are.

[8] Much like the hissing quality of his voice whenever he was distressed, or his distaste for cold weather, the cocking of his head is a habit from Crowley’s reptilious days that he has never been able to do away with completely.

[9] Aziraphale absolutely would not have minded being pushed against a wall again, so long as it was Crowley was doing the pushing.

 


End file.
